Fixer
by Konstantinsen
Summary: Sometimes, the Legion needs people who can solve problems they're either too busy or too ignorant to deal with. More often than not, they don't care how it's done. Or rather, General Tullius could care less how it's done; he just wants it done.
1. Chapter 1

_4E 203 – Sun's Height_

"Are you certain that our position in Riften is vulnerable?" Tullius asked.

For the third time, Legate Rikke confirmed the worrisome reports. "General, you know Fasendil would not make something like this up. I stand by him when I say that Maven Black-Briar is aggressively asserting her autonomy over the Rift regardless of the Empire."

Tullius nodded. He gestured at Legate Caessennius standing at attention in the far corner of the room. "Adventus, any word from the frumentarii?"

"They have all gone dark, sir. It is an emergency tactic but I fear that some of them, if not all, have been turned," he replied.

"Ah, damn. All our assets in the Rift?"

"Yes, sir," Caessennius affirmed.

The General slid back into his chair. His eyes ran from the various dotted markers tacked all over the map of Riften to the solid flag pin pinned over the standard of Windhelm. "Is he still with us?"

Rikke and Caessennius shared a look. The former shrugged. "Well, sir, you did dismiss him. But he is still active in Skyrim. Are we doing this again?"

Tullius freed a piece of unused parchment and began writing. "If he got things moving again in Markarth, he might be able to do the same in the Rift."

As soon as he was done, he folded the letter and had it sealed. "Adventus, I want you to personally deliver this to him. Give him my direct orders; if he declines, let him read the letter. If he declines again, report back."

"Yes, sir."

Before Caessennius left, Rikke voiced her concern. "General, you do know that we got lucky in Markarth."

"Does it matter if luck is with us?" Tullius retorted. "I am not counting on luck here."

* * *

 _4E 203 – Last Seed_

Legate Fasendil could not find his dispatch notes. Odd. He had left them on his table awhile ago. He had been gone for only a brief while to relieve an Imperial courier outside the Keep.

"Damn it. Damn it," the Altmer growled. If he could root out the Thieves' Guild from the sewers, he would. But that was not to be. Limited in manpower and politically contained by the ever-powerful Black-Briar family, those damn rodents were untouchable. At least the Dark Brotherhood was no more.

He had to accept that whatever went missing from his quarters would never be returned. What made him bitter and angry tonight, however, was the fact that the articles stolen were confidential dispatches between his fellow legates across Skyrim. Fasendil realized early on that he had compromised the security of Imperial forces in and outside the Rift.

"Damn it all!"

There was a thud upstairs. He quickly surveyed his quarters. Not here. The thud came again. From just above him. Another thud. And some furniture falling. Fasendil drew his sword and sent his aides to guard the exits. The legate slowly ascended to the mezzanine above his office and caught a booted leg slip behind the kitchen doorway.

"Show yourself, thief! You are stealing from the Legion!" he declared.

More noise. The thief was getting reckless.

"Give yourself up!"

He rushed into the kitchen. It was a mess. Then the creaking of wood inches behind his bare head. The legate turned in time to block the cast iron pan that would have knocked him out. The thief was only shorter in build, hooded and covered in head to toe in a blackened silk shroud making it impossible to discern the identity. The long mantle draping from his shoulders also concealed the short sword that came loose from its sheath.

Fasendil blocked the swing and pushed the thief against the railing on the mezzanine, drawing in the rest of the Imperial garrison. The struggle was short.

Come morning, the legate controllably expressed his frustration at the attempted disruption of his duties to Jarl Maven Black-Briar.

"At least you're still alive," Maven remarked at the end of it.

Fasendil wanted to rant. "That is true. However, if possible, I would wish for more cooperation from the guardsmen so nothing like this ever happens again." She did not need to know how the attempted theft-turned-murderer could have nearly crippled Legion forces across this province of the state.

"Your safety is guaranteed. As always," she answered. "The Thieves' Guild is nothing but a band of ambitious ragtag thugs. After last night, I doubt they could try something like this again."

From the look on Maven's face, the legate was ever more worried about his personal safety. She wanted him either under her thumb or gone. So Fasendil decided to bite back as soon as he received Rikke's dispatch later in the day. And bite back hard he would.

* * *

 _4E 203 – Hearthfire_

The banquet was in high spirits as the nobles from Cyrodiil and Morrowind produced enough noise from their drunken tomfoolery to muffle the discussion by the throne.

"I don't think he's that much of a threat, mother," Hemming said quietly behind his goblet.

Maven maintained her faux festive mien. "The people say otherwise. That is enough of an issue that needs to be settled."

"He has not done anything damaging to us. We are still in control. It's just the people; they tend to talk about whatever is in the air."

Maven showed him a brief scowl. " _He_ is in the air. And now even the Blacklight nobles are talking about him. No rumors are to be taken at face value."

"Preposterous. He can't be that influential in Morrowind," Hemming dismissed.

"I want him summoned to my court as soon as possible. I need to have a word with him."

"Yes, mother."

* * *

Fasendil was smiling before his fellow legate finished talking. "About time you finally showed them their place," he said when he was done.

The Nord, an experienced legate long since discharged, smirked. "It wasn't easy but it was done."

"You've been making some noise," Fasendil remarked, downing his tankard of mead. "People talk when you do them a favor."

"I know. Just enough noise and Maven will finally pay attention."

The Altmer legate sighed. "Maven is probably squirming in her seat. She doesn't like influentials in her city unless they're complacent to her." He pointed upstairs. "Last month, I had to fend off an assassin. Bastard stole my dispatches with Rikke and nearly had my head. I'm sure Maven had a hand in it."

"I know," he replied wryly. "That's why I'm here, right? I remember when Lady Law-giver was the jarl. Poor woman could barely move an inch without Black-Briar breathing down her neck."

"I don't know who could have been better. But we had no other choice."

The Nord turned to see the doors on the Legion's quarters swing open and closed. The day shift had retired while the night shift was preparing to conduct their patrols. "Good thing I've memorized the faces."

"I know what you mean. It's arduous but at least it helps to know who's out of place," Fasendil remarked. "The Thieves' Guild is cornered underneath us but even if we tried, they'd slip away. Somehow."

"You can never really get rid of a disease like them. But you can contain it. And so far, Maven is keeping them there until she changes her mind."

The Altmer noticed the minute twist on the edge of his visitor's lip. "What do you have in mind tomorrow?"

The Nord stared blankly at the wall. Then grinned. He set down his empty tankard and rose to his feet. "Some more generosity for the citizens."

Fasendil leaned over and tapped his friend on the shoulder. "You know, I'm glad you're on our side."

* * *

The following morning, the Nord appeared in the halls of Mistveil Keep, bowing his knee slightly before the throne before rising. "You called, Jarl Black-Briar?"

"I've been hearing your name in court recently. The people have not ceased blabbering about you," Maven began. "I am also aware of the rising concerns about Morrowind."

The Nord smiled politely. "I cannot deny that we have been reinforcing our garrisons here to protect against unwarranted incursions from Morrowind. That is not to imply that we regard our Dunmer allies with hostility."

"Oh, no. The Dunmer hold nothing against us. Not in any significant way."

"What seems to be the matter, Jarl Black-Briar?"

Maven twisted her lips to an angry frown. She maintained it long enough for the Nord to visually recognize her disdain for him. "The people have been regarding you as their savior so much that they have more confidence in you than in us. If you think you can sweep them away with your charm, you are very wrong. We retain control of the Rift—of course, loyally under the Empire. It would behoove me to have you disappear but that would be too troublesome to handle."

"Are you…threatening an officer of the Legion, Jarl Black-Briar?" the legate.

Hemming glanced at his mother with veiled surprise. He saw Maul stiffen to her flank. Maven nonetheless waved him off. "The fact that you are in the Legion makes matters complicated. There is no denying your services to the Empire during Ulfric's uprising and if there is anything I could regard you with, it is that I respect you for helping to put down that rabid dog."

The Nord feigned ignorance. "So, what? Am I too…problematic?"

Maven scowled. "You are. But instead of pitting the whole Legion against me, I'd rather have you appointed a member of my court. An honorary thane with all the proper formalities and functions the title affords."

She leaned close, a smile curling on her lips. The legate appeared nonplussed; she could read the frustration through his eyes. And he had ample reason to accept.

"So what do you say?"

The Nord tilted his head.

* * *

The atmosphere in the precinct was dour. When the Nord finished, Fasendil was left gawking like a stunned owl. "She just webbed you in like a frostbite spider," he said.

The Nord glared back. "Well, I'd rather take it as a development we could exploit."

"How? You do know that if you were given a position in her court, you're basically shackling yourself to her. You are putting a noose on your neck. That's how she got Lady Law-giver; that's how she snared the previous jarls," the Altmer legate bemoaned.

"What's done is done, Fasendil. I'm already a thane of Riften." Then he beamed a wicked beam. "I'm still on your side. I may have signed myself to be a dog to that bitch but a thane is never really restricted to his traditional duties. Just ask Balgruuf."

Fasendil paused. He sat down on his chair and poured in a fresh tankard of mead. The silence lasted long until he was half-way through his drink. Then he shook his head. "You sly bastard. What can you do against her as thane?"

A deep chuckle. "You'd be surprised."

* * *

 _4E 203 – Frost Fall_

Snow was swept into piles lining the edges of Riften's streets. The street sweepers were quick to thaw out some of the cresting ice on the cobblestone and wood, making it easier for the rest of the city's denizens to move about. It was even easier for the detachment of Imperial troops to meander their way through Riften's thoroughfare and into Mistveil Keep.

The guardsmen wisely stepped aside as three contubernia of troops poured into the hall. The centurion leading them was a new face to Maven. And he did not appear to be in a graceful mood.

"By order of the Imperial Legion, Jarl Maven Black-Briar, you are to surrender all articles, artifacts, and records dating to the beginning of your appointment as jarl of this hold."

Maven felt a twitch on her face and bit down hard. "I assure you, I have nothing that would pose any threat to the Empire. I may have been involved in some rather ugly operations against dissident elements but my fierce loyalty has been proven time and again."

"I repeat, Jarl Black-Briar. Surrender all documents and records detailing your tenure as jarl or face disciplinary action from the Imperial Legion."

Hemming was about ready to leave his chair and collect all that the centurion demanded. Sweat beaded down his forehead; this was it, he thought. They were cornered. But how? To his side, Maul was hesitant. He could crush two skulls with his bare hands but to face a hundred legionnaires and be branded a traitor because of it was just too much.

Maven gripped his arm. Her voice fluctuated with control. "Just get the logbooks. Dispose of the rest," she ordered quietly.

"Yes, m-my jarl."

The centurion, however, was annoyingly alert. "I have reports that claim that you have more important articles than your logbooks. If we see any sign of deterrence or any attempt to destroy anything that might serve to incriminate you in any illegal activities, we will act within Imperial and Skyrim laws and decree the hold under martial rule."

"I demand to see Legate Fasendil," Maven nearly hollered.

"Legate Fasendil is awaiting you outside the Keep if you wish to meet him, Jarl Black-Briar," the centurion rebutted.

"And what of—"

The hall's massive doors creaked open. "Your thane is busy containing those ragtag thugs in the Ratway, Jarl Black-Briar," Fasendil declared. "Just as you ordered."

Maven eased herself against her throne. Her palm rested under her chin to catch the droplets of sweat running down her temples. "Why, of course. The Thieves' Guild needs to know their place among the dead."

"I believe they have much to say regarding you," the Altmer continued. "their representatives have been quite cooperative."

"Is that so?" the jarl said, doing her best to hide her bubbling anger.

"It is an on-going operation, you see. Details are limited at best as we have yet to hear of anything more recent." That was, of course, a lie. But even if Maven knew it was, this lying game had been going on since before the Stormcloak Insurrection began.

Hemming then appeared with a stack of aged tomes and manuscripts. The other keep servants followed with the rest of the demanded articles. Maven was quick to divert the attention. "Perhaps we can be more negotiable here. This is, after all, my hold. So I, at least, can exercise my rightful authority to initiate diplomatic bargains."

"Negotiations are overridden, I'm afraid," Fasendil interjected.

"How so?" To Maven, that was impossible. She had the likes of Motierre and the other high councilmen from Cyrodiil on her side. She expended much to get a fraction of the senate to put her on solid footing. Yet how could this happen? Could they have been paid off? Could the Emperor have finally exercised his full executive powers, perhaps?

"We cannot disclose that. It is a matter of our superiors," the legate answered smugly. "Try as you might, Maven. You can't buy yourself out of this one."

"I beg your pardon?"

The centurion looked controllably excited. He recognized the first item presented by the steward; an ornate saber forged out of hardened malachite bearing the sigil of a now insignificant family name that had once held power over the Rift. The subsequent jewelries were branded with various seals from differing houses of nobility. "Thank you for your cooperation, Jarl Black-briar."

Fasendil leaned over the growing pile and whistled. "Looks like loot, Maven," he wistfully crowed.

For the first time in a long time, Maven found herself unable to speak. And she felt increasingly warm as her heart beat faster than she could remember.

Deep underground, amid the ancient man-made canals that controlled the flow of water underneath Riften, the Nord tossed Brynjolf a loosely knit knapsack. Fellow thieves Vekel, Vex, and Delvin flanked their representative. The bag was filled to the brim with septims and a vast assortment of precious stones. The accumulated value would be enough to keep them going a for good long while.

"A fair amount of coin here," Delvin cooed.

The Nord beckoned as he reached the moistened door on the other side of the tunnel. "Remember: the Legion also pays well."

"I doubt this is from the Legion's coffers," Brynjolf said.

The thane of Riften chuckled. "Does it matter to you where your money comes from?"

The thieves were silent.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 22, 2016**

 **LAST EDITED: March 25, 2017**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: September 19, 2016**

* * *

 **NOTE: Hey. Thought I'd throw this one out. Been playing Skyrim a lot. Decided to do some quests for Maven Black-Briar. Didn't like the character but planted some ideas in my head. Reviews would be nice, especially on the writing style because I'm experimenting on that. Thanks. Good day.**


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE: Didn't touch this chapter in six months. Finally got this one of the way now.**

 **Also, thanks to the guest reviewer who pointed out the courtesan thing. Had to look the up the word to fully understand what it meant so yeah.**

* * *

 _4E 203 – Mid Year_

Falk Firebeard waited until most of the court nobles had left. He peered over the bannister to watch Erikur spiritedly disappear underneath the stone archway that led to the Blue Palace's lavish antechamber. He continued in silence until the iron-barred doors clicked shut. About time.

"Is there something wrong, Falk?" Elisif asked when he returned to her side.

"Erikur's recent dealings are draining our coffers, my queen," Falk deadpanned. "We have very little to pursue our fiscal plans for this year."

"Yes, that is a problem now," the High Queen of Skyrim conceded. "Is there any way we can collect more fees other than raising taxes?"

"Confiscating stolen goods is one, my queen," Falk said, stopping short of remarking on how futile such an endeavor would be. For one, Skyrim is still recovering the bloodletting that was the Stormcloak Insurrection. Additionally, their manpower reserves were hamstrung by the constant demands for protection against marauding gangs, wild natives, and rebel hold-outs.

"I doubt we could recoup our investments if we rely solely on that," Elisif said. To Falk, it was relieving to know that his liege was aware of their constraints.

The steward paced. "We could appeal to the Legion. I am sure that General Tullius has special reserves trained and outfitted specifically for such crises." Falk droned on until he noticed how quiet the high queen was.

"My queen?"

Elisif sighed. "Very well. Send word to General Tullius. Make it discreet."

Falk nodded. "Yes, my queen."

* * *

 _4E 203 – Sun's Height_

The longship eased between the piers near the other merchant vessels docked at the East Empire Company shipyard. Over the course of the next week, the vessel was outfitted with decorative banded iron shields, refurbished cabin quarters, and other amenities. By the time Erikur came aboard, his new frigate was in fit shape to sail the seas free from the East Empire Company and directly under his control.

"This is a fine flagship," he said to the grizzled brute of a man whom he appointed to captain his vessel.

"The best we could give, my lord," Captain Hargar replied. "We have specially prepared your quarters to suit your tastes."

The thane grinned as he entered the cabin. Fine bas reliefs were carved into the beams and posts while various other appliances made of smelted precious stone were arrayed across the corner tables and his personal desk. A thick carpeted rug stretched across the whole floor, bearing a custom-tailored image of a dragon resting under the heel of an armored knight.

"This," Erikur mused. "This would give me the respect I deserve. Bryling can keep trying; she is all hark now." All he needed was to begin plying his trade with the merchantmen in High Rock and Morrowind. Enough clout and he might even put Falk in his place, maybe even exert some influence over the high queen directly.

"My crew are disciplined," the captain chimed through his teeth. "Each man has been drawn from the finest of the Imperial navy. And I assure you that we can deal with any pirates or brigands vying for your wealth aboard this mighty fine ship."

"Yes, yes. I will be diverting more funds to meet any of your necessities for the duration of your service."

Hargar was grinning when he shook Erikur's hand. He led him down below to the cargo hold where he introduced his two finest "treasure hunters", Argonians Jaree-Ra and Deeja.

When the reports reached Elisif at the Blue Palace, she found herself too late to act against it. The city's coffers would be sapped yet again. Another ship would be relegated to Erikur and another until he would have his own little flotilla. His personal riches alone far surpassed the combined the combined wealth of her other nobles. Until something would change, all they could do was watch and admonish.

* * *

 _4E 203 – Frost Fall_

"Sir, our position in Riften has been firmly secured," Rikke reported. "Fasendil reports complete cooperation from the jarl and her court."

Tullius received the report. "Good. Recall our agent here. We've got another problem that needs some work."

"Yes, sir." As Rikke made to leave, she remembered another important detail. "What about the Second Fleet, sir?"

"Keep it in reserve."

"And the new privateer fleet? Admiral Jyrkovyk has lodged another complaint."

Tullius paused. "Erikur's ships? Just keep an eye on them. Forward to me any and all updates. If he tries to muscle out any of our service frigates, tell him that the Imperial Navy is going to sink one of his."

Rikke had to keep herself from smiling at that threat. "Yes, sir."

* * *

The carriage arrived late in the evening. Both moons were already illuminating the snowy sky with the northern lights painting over the distant stars in irregular patterns.

"Beautiful evening, don't you think?" the carriage driver remarked.

The Nord dismounted and stretched his legs. "Aye. Cannot deny the comfort in the cold season." He swiftly collected his belongings and started up the road to Solitude's first gate. As he passed the cliffside, he noted the two new vessels moored close to the other merchant ships of the East Empire Company. "There's a flotilla out there now? By the Gods…"

* * *

General Tullius kept himself awake long enough for the Nord to report to him in person. It was just an hour passed midnight and he had yet to get some sleep since early dawn this morning. To his side, Admiral Jyrkovyk was pacing by the wall, his eyes running from one flag to the next on the map.

"You called, sir?"

"Good work in Riften," the general greeted.

"You're welcome, sir," the Nord reciprocated stiffly.

Jyrkoyvk came to shake his hand. "You must be who I've been hearing about. Good to finally see you in person."

The Nord returned the gesture. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Aye. But let's get to the chase. I saw the ships. Very flashy for a merchant fleet."

"Let's not sugarcoat the obvious." Tullius straightened himself and pointed at the threads stretching from the flag pins tacked on opposite sides of the map, between Solitude and Windhelm. "He's already had them operating along the northern shipping lanes. He hasn't violated any laws but we've been getting varied reports about certain incursions with other merchant vessels. Admiral Jyrkovyk can tell you more."

Jyrkovyk began his tirade though it was mostly a rant about the wasted potential of his ships sitting in port compared to the wealthier vessels attached to this one thane, freely operating unhindered on the open seas.

"The point is that he's hiding something, huh," the Nord concluded. "And he's using piracy as his cover."

"We can't be sure of that," Jyrkovyk replied calmly. "The high queen has her suspicions and so do I. I can't just shake him down for contraband. And you now how crippled our fleet is right now with the mess we've just come out of. It's a long shot and if I'm wrong, we could be looking at another scandal that might cost us even more than the Stormcloaks."

Tullius issued him his orders. "I want you to investigate his cargo. Find any evidence or anything that would link him to smugglers, pirates…or anything that'll get him off the seas."

"Sounds like a familiar operation we pulled years ago."

"Those corsairs were nothing. If you can take down a horde of dragons, then shaking down a few stubborn sailors is a chore for you," Tullius crowed.

The Nord snickered. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not that good." He rubbed the growing stubble that he had yet to trim. "But I do appreciate the compliment."

* * *

 _4E 203 – Sun's Dusk_

Captain Hargar pulled open his logbook, dipped his quill, and began writing. The new deckhand stood idly in front of him, draped in thick animal skins covering his shoddy tunic. His boots were worn, he smelled like a rotting horker, and he sporting a scraggly bristle that had seen better days—a perfect addition to the crew.

"There. You're in. Welcome aboard the Dainty Sload," Hargar said with finality. He stood up with a quick smile and tapped the man on the shoulder.

Following quick introductions, Hargar sent the man downstairs with Jaree-Ra. His sister Deeja gave him a mop and pointed to the floor, wet with blood. "Clean it up before it freezes over," the Argonian commanded bluntly.

"Aye, ma'am," he said.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere on this ship," Deeja returned. "Just do your damn job, monkey-boy."

"And don't touch the cargo," Jaree-Ra added sternly.

"Aye, sir."

Even after the Argonians had shut the door behind him, the Nord continued his chore until the whole lower deck had been scraped clean of horker blood. He later found the manatees hanging off the hooks with wide cuts halving their abdomens. He felt around inside the meaty ribcages until a sizable cavern had been formed inside the half-butchered carcass. The Nord, overcome with malice, beamed.

* * *

 _4E 203 – Evening Star_

All was quiet in Dawnstar in the wee morning hours of this cold day. Most activity occurred at the Northstar Docks where the crew of the Sea Squall were making preparations for another long journey across the Sea of Ghosts. Captain Wayfinder eyed the open waters ahead then checked his maps to reinforce his memory of the sea lane they would taking.

Then, at the onset of sunrise, the unexpected appeared over the western horizon. A flaming ship, still cruising across the surface, edged closer to the docks. Smoke bellowed from its deck while its sails were being consumed in a mighty blaze.

Wayfinder and his men were quick to act and alerted the guardsmen on duty. By the time the burning vessel was within range of the smaller boats, the people of Dawnstar were already by the pier, buckets of water in hand, waiting and watching with abated horror the screaming burning men jumping overboard to save themselves.

The Sea Squall now had to share its port with another ship of equal build but now reduced to a charred wreck near incapable of floating.

By the afternoon, the ship had been scuttled and the authorities present in Dawnstar began an investigation of what caused a luxurious privately owned longship to suffer such a fate. When the first reports of the incident reached Solitude, the men in Dawnstar concluded that the ship had been set ablaze by a dissident. It did not take long for Erikur, thane of Solitude, to vocally lash out at his rivals in court whom he falsely suspected to be responsible.

* * *

The Nord sat in his fishing boat, beached on the shore a frozen islet, and tossed his angling line over the gunwale. He turned and bent slightly to see if the tiny vessel was unmovable against the lapping tides. As he did so, he noticed a few sloops approach from the southeast. He squinted. And waved his hand in greeting.

"Legate Rikke? Hail! I didn't know you'd be out here on this hour."

Rikke was unamused. She and her escorts rowed to the islet off the marshes of Hjaalmarch and dropped anchor close to the Nord's modest fishing cove. She dropped onto the icy soil and rounded the other boat, sporting a look of anger and disbelief.

"You look stressed," the Nord said, sorting through his bait while his angling line sat sandwiched tightly between his legs.

Rikke planted her arms widely on her hips despite the frigid north winds blowing from the Sea of Ghosts. "What did you do? You were supposed to be on reconnaissance, not sabotage!"

"What do you mean sabotage?"

"Don't play coy, damn it! We both know you scuttled that longship. You started the fire somehow and now Erikur is threatening to forcefully instigate a trade embargo with the other merchantmen. You know what that would mean to Solitude: an economic disaster!"

The Nord pouted. "Damn. He sounds angry."

Rikke gawked. "He is!"

"Don't worry. Just send some quaestors to investigate the wreck. Have them collect those marked chests in the cargo hold."

"The investigation is nearly over. Our men at Dawnstar have already combed through the wreck. What do you want us to find in that wet ash heap?" Rikke demanded.

The Nord smiled. "The ship ran aground on shallow water, right?"

Rikke cocked her head to the side. "The ship was scuttled after it docked. Half of it is submerged and Jarl Merilis is going to have the all the salvageable remains scrapped."

"Either way, you'll come across the chests."

She folded her arms. "What are in the chests?"

The Nord beamed at her again. His eyes, however, chilled her to the bone. "You'll have to find that one out, legate. It would ruin the surprise if I told you."

* * *

Erikur entered the Blue Palace with the élan that usually accompanied his stride. When he ascended to the high queen's court, however, he found himself flanked by a motley of Imperial soldiers adorned in distinctly familiar cuirasses. Nonetheless, he made his usual gestures before the high queen.

"Thane Erikur," Elisif said. "Please explain this." She nodded at Falk who then produced a bowl of raw moon sugar.

Erikur leaned in once and showcased disdain for the product. "It is an illegal product, my liege. What of it?"

Elisif looked at the others present in her court. She saw Erikur's rival and fellow Thane Bryling resisting a prideful grin. Then she continued, "One of your ships docked rather troublesomely in Dawnstar and was discovered to be containing immense amounts of contraband. This is but a sample of what was confiscated."

Erikur was horrified. "Say again, my liege?"

"You heard her," Falk growled, shoving the moon sugar into the dumbfounded thane's hands. "Your ship, the one you purchased and refurbished for your 'private enterprise', has been discovered to contain vast amounts of illicit material."

"That's not all, Erikur," Bryling added smugly. "There were bottles of the rare Balmora Blue as well, cleverly tucked into the carcasses of horkers that were still found partially burnt but still intact for a butcher to begin flaying."

Erikur was now completely losing his grip on himself. He was a businessman, not a smuggler! Well, not entirely, but this was not his shipment. "This is…this is absurd. I am innocent, my liege! I assure you, I have many rivals. They might have planted this in the brig and, and—"

Falk cleared his throat. "Your ship was razed and her crew expired before they could name a perpetrator. But this"—he gestured at the moon sugar—"is evidence more than sufficient to confirm your involvement in these illegal activities."

"No! No, no, no!" Erikur dropped to his knees, drenched in sweat and panicking. "My queen, you have to believe me! I had nothing to do with this!"

"It was your ship, Erikur," Elisif corrected. "Your flagship, nonetheless."

"No, it—yes! Yes, it was. But I assure you, it was just transporting textile. I was building a textile business! My contacts in Windhelm and Blacklight will confirm my trade!" he pleaded.

Elisif frowned. She looked to her steward and then to the dozen Imperial guardsmen surrounding her hall. "I'm sorry, Erikur. But until you prove your innocence, I have no choice but to strip you of your title as thane of Solitude—"

"No!"

"—and have you placed under penal custody in accordance to Skyrim law for contraband smuggling of the highest degree." The high queen rose from her throne. She gestured at the guardsmen. "Take him away."

Throughout the whole ordeal, Erikur was bawling and wailing. He was a moist mess by the time the quaestors had dragged him—publicly through Solitude's streets and humiliatingly drawing in a persistent crowd—to the Castle Dour dungeon. Warden Atar was waiting by the doors and quickly snapped the cast iron shackles on the disgraced businessman's wrists.

"I'm innocent! Innocent!" he screamed futilely. His eyes scanned the courtyard: citizens, traders, tourists, soldiers. Even General Tullius and the rest of the Legion high command emerged from their quarters to witness his humiliation. "This is all a ruse! I am not guilty of such things!"

Erikur saw someone familiar pushing through the crowd. The look on her eyes reflected his own hysterical melancholy; his own sister was just as surprised as he was. He screamed at her.

"Gisli! Gisli! Help me; go to the Blue Palace! Tell them I'm innocent! You know me; I'm innocent!"

Gisli was about to say a word but felt her back press against something cold. She turned to see an Imperial soldier fully clad in steel surveying the spectacle. The reliefs on his cuirass denoted his rank and standing in the Legion. His face, the features of a full-blooded Nordic native, was shrouded in confusion.

"Legate," she greeted respectfully.

"What happened here?" he asked.

"I don't know. But my brother is…he's been arrested." She looked conflicted. "I-I don't know what to do. What did he do?"

The legate shrugged. "I'm afraid I am as clueless as you are." Just then, General Tullius appeared and beckoned at him. "I'm sorry, miss. I must go."

Gisli nodded without another word. As she remained to comprehend her brother's disgrace, General Tullius drew his aides back into the confines of Castle Dour. By the time the doors shut behind them, he let out a soft chuckle.

Rikke sighed. "With all due respect, sir, Erikur should not have received such treatment."

The Nord snorted, slapping the ornate dragon relief on his breastplate. "Hah! He deserved every bit of it!"

Tullius calmly raised his voice. "Though he should have been spared some dignity, at least we wouldn't have to worry about him trying to dominate the Sea of Ghosts with his monopoly."

"Let alone take away any of our ships," Admiral Jyrkovyk sniggered.

"And he was planning on using them to trade in contraband," the Nord added amusedly.

Rikke was unsmiling. But she conceded. "I thought better of him. Out of all people, he was the least person I expected to be involved in that kind of business."

"I'm curious. Who was his supplier?" Tullius asked. He motioned at the Nord. "Did you at least find out who he was getting the skooma from?"

"What supplier?"

Tullius and Rikke paused. "The supplier. Where did Erikur get his goods?"

"There was no supplier," the Nord admitted. The silence that quickly settled died out as soon as his own voice roared with malicious laughter.

There was confusion at first. Then slow realization. And Tullius was now severely unsmiling. "Wait. Did you…"

The Nord shrugged while chortling. "Well, it's about time you realized it, sir. There was no contraband. We happened across some real smugglers during our supply runs and it just so happened that some of their cargo was, say, displaced onto the Dainty Sload. Could have been smoother but the crew just had to get in the way."

Rikke glanced between Jyrkovyk and Tullius. The General gawked unamused while the Admiral tried to make sense of what he had just heard. She glared daggers at her fellow legate. "You framed an innocent thane?"

"Innocent? I thought you said Erikur was a dirty rat," the Nord rebutted.

"Alright, that's enough," Tullius grounded. "The matter has been settled and it's time to focus on our other problems right now."

"I can agree with that," Jyrkovyk dejectedly agreed.

Rikke gawked between her two superiors. Her lips quivered, words trying to form in her head while her tongue sputtered incomplete phrases.

"Rikke," the Nord finally said with a tap on her shoulder. "Our duties don't entail being clean. Besides, we weren't really clean and honest during Ulfric's insurrection. Don't you agree?"

The female legate could only begrudgingly nod.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 26, 2016**

 **LAST EDITED: March 25, 2017**

 **UPLOADED: March 25, 2017**


End file.
